


Good Basis For A Friendship

by djcati



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: X-wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djcati/pseuds/djcati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes and Hobbie's first meeting thanks to the formation of Rogue Squadron, or, How Wedge Antilles' worst nightmare began.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Basis For A Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> (Written May 2006. Mostly ignoring the Empire comics, not that they're relevant to this anyway.)

The party was getting a bit much, really. It wasn't officially supposed to _be_ a party -- just a sort of 'meet and greet', get to know your new squadmates type of thing -- but get enough pilots in one place and the alcohol's going to appear from _somewhere_. It's a rule of the universe.

But it had been introductions first, though he knew some of them already. Luke Skywalker, the Jedi Hero of the Alliance (or the naive little farmboy Biggs had talked about); Wedge Antilles, the _second_ guy, and kinda unlucky for a Corellian, all things considered. The other pilots, he didn't know, had never heard of, and didn't remember now.

So introductions, first. Small talk, for a while (he'd sat in a chair fidgeting). Vague discussion of ships and training and their first mission, whenever that might be. And then, drinking.

Someone produced a bottle of Whyren's -- real, proper Whyren's Reserve -- and tumblers were found, and the first toast was made, _"to Red Squadron."_ And everyone drank a little.

_"To Biggs Darklighter,"_ from Skywalker. Everyone drank a bit more. _"To Jek Porkins,"_ from Antilles. Someone nearby murmured, "Piggy," and drank a lot while everyone drank a little. 

To the Alliance. To the shot that got the Death Star. To Princess Leia, and everyone laughed when Skywalker flushed.

There was more Whyren's, from somewhere, and conversation again, and it all sort of blurred after that. Not because of the alcohol, and not because nothing stuck out, but because -- he was just on the edge of it all, wasn't he? He couldn't quite work out why that was, but he supposed he just wasn't in the mood for a party. 

And when the conversation turned into a drinking game, and someone topped up his glass -- he mumbled an excuse, handed it to someone else (Zed? Zev?) and slipped out of the room.

The base corridor.

_Quiet_.

He started down it, thinking he'd make a trip to the 'fresher -- and tripped. He swore as he hit the floor, not quite managing to catch himself, and wondered what he'd tripped over--

Wait. Were those Huttese curses?

He didn't know Huttese.

"D'you _often_ fall on top of people you don't know?"

"Only if she's good-looking," he muttered, and scrambled back to find some floor space to kneel on. Preferably some that wasn't taken up by someone else's legs.

The 'someone else' was one of his new squadmates -- the one who'd drunk the most for Antilles' toast to Porkins, if he remembered right. After a considering look, the man said, "Well, you'll have to buy _me_ a drink first. Wes Janson," he added, and stuck out his empty hand; the other had a bottle of Whyren's Reserve in it.

"Derek Klivian," but that wasn't quite right, was it?

Janson snorted, except it was almost a giggle. (The bottle was a third empty.) "Must be a fun hobby, teaching folk to spell that."

That got a small wry smile. "Yeah." And after a slight hesitation, a split-second decision, "Literally. Friends call me Hobbie."

Janson laughed again and grinned lopsidedly. "I'd better do that then, Hobbie, since we're supposed to be squadmates and all."

And there it was: he was Hobbie again. Not Derek, not just Klivian -- Hobbie. It didn't feel as odd as he'd thought it would.

He _(Hobbie)_ settled against the same wall as Janson and glanced sideways at him. "What're you doing out here, anyway?"

Janson grinned again, and Hobbie wondered if he did that a lot. "Drinking," he explained, and held up the bottle.

"Alone?"

"Not alone now, am I?"

Hobbie held his hand out; after a moment, Janson gave him the whiskey. He took a swig before handing it back. " _Why_ are you out here, then?"

"See, should've asked that in the first place." A swig of the bottle for himself. "Bit of peace and quiet."

This didn't sound like the full story at all. "From the party, huh?"

"It's a real party now?" He almost sounded disappointed, probably to be missing it.

"Yeah. Playing some drinking game with cards. Not sabacc, though."

"Ah, might've gone back for _sabacc_ ," Janson said with another grin, and made himself more comfortable against the wall. "Think I'll stay out here for now." He paused for a brief second, then said, "Didn't bring any food, did you?"

Hobbie shook his head.

"Ah, I'll cope with just whiskey."

"As long as you share." Beat. "So. Why'd you want peace and quiet?"

"Huh," Janson said, and looked at him sideways. "You're an insistent bastard, aren't you? Hope I don't get _you_ as a wingmate."

Hobbie shrugged. "I'm not always."

"Guess we'll see." Janson took another swig of whiskey, then handed Hobbie the bottle. "Conversation just got a little much, y'know?"

_Yeah,_ he thought, and remembered that Antilles and Skywalker had spent a lot of time, after some whiskey, talking about Red Squadron -- particularly Biggs and Porkins. "About ... Piggy?"

Janson winced, a little; but his shrug was nonchalant, and he just held his hand out for the bottle.

Hobbie handed it back. "That's not a good thing, then?"

The other pilot shook his head and swallowed some more whiskey.

"You know, conversations usually go both ways."

"Heh." Janson gave a small grin. "Know why Piggy was even at Yavin?"

"No."

"They do."

Something flashed in his memory, and he thought back to a conversation at the party. Something about _Porkins wasn't even supposed to be there_ and _other guy was too sick_. And one of the newer pilots (Zev? Zed? _Really should learn his name_ , Hobbie thought.) saying that being a little sick wouldn't have stopped _him_ from flying.

Come to think of it, he did remember noticing someone leave right about then.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

They sat in vaguely awkward silence for a while.

"You know," Hobbie said slowly, "it's my fault Biggs was at Yavin, too."

"Really?"

He thought about it. "No," he realised, "he'd have been there anyway. It's _his_ fault _I'm_ here."

"Guess you owe him, then."

"Guess so."

"...Darklighter went to the Academy, right?"

"Yeah."

"So ... _you_ went to the Academy."

"Yeah."

"I hate Imps."

"Me, too."

Janson grinned again and handed Hobbie the bottle. It was half-empty, now.

Hobbie vaguely wondered, for a moment, what sort of basis sharing whiskey was for a friendship. Not a bad one, anyway, and he took a swig before handing the bottle back.

This time, the silence wasn't awkward -- it was just a silence. Sort of friendly, sort of companionable, sort of ... _okay_ , really.

Eventually, Hobbie said, "It's not really your fault, you know."

"...yeah."

"Just feels like it."

"You were doing great up 'til that."

"...sorry." But he grinned slightly, because Janson was, and kriff, the guy's mood was contagious. Maybe it was the alcohol. 

"Is this the part where I say something motivational to you in return?"

"Probably."

"Will alcohol do?"

"That'll do fine, yeah."

"Good," Janson said, and handed the bottle over. "I'm all out of motivational speeches right now."

"I'll ask you later, then."

"Like I said, buy me a drink first and we'll see how it goes."

Hobbie considered the bottle for a moment, just over a third left in it, then glanced sideways at the other pilot. "Are you always this weird?"

"No," Janson said, and grinned. "I'm even weirder when I'm sober. That a problem?"

"No," Hobbie said thoughtfully, and took a swig of whiskey. "No, not really."

Not really at all.


End file.
